


Lesson Learned

by everandanon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Castiel, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Comedy, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-08 08:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21232604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everandanon/pseuds/everandanon
Summary: At long last, Dean Winchester summons the courage to confess his feelings to his best friend and roommate, Cas.Unfortunately, he never gets around to it - and the next time he gets the chance,everythingseems to have changed.Tormented by Cas’s sudden influx of late-night visitors, Dean tries to be mature about it (really!), no matter how heartbroken he gets, but it’s easier said than done. In fact, all of Dean’s efforts to cope just seem to drive the two of them further and further apart . . .





	Lesson Learned

**Author's Note:**

> **Potential CW #1**: Non-explicit mentions of hypothetical BDSM roles in Dean’s panicked inner monologue (he may have some misconceptions about things, although really, this whole fic is Dean having misconceptions about things).  
**Potential CW #2**: Brief discussion of prostitution due to a misunderstanding. No prostitution happens in this fic, either in the past or present.
> 
> If there’s something I missed in the tags, please let me know.
> 
> As always, not beta read, all mistakes are mine. Please enjoy.

On a rainy Thursday afternoon, Dean Winchester finally finds the nerve to confess his feelings to his best friend.

(Or rather, he finally finds the _rest _of the nerve to do it. He has, perhaps, been sitting on this confession for over a year now — been tormented by it, even — but the point is, he’s ready, and today is the day.)

Of course, rainy Thursdays always make him think of Cas; they’d met on a day like that, after all. Dean, for his part, had been headed to the nearest bar he could find, a direct response to his sub-letter for the summer having abruptly skipped town two weeks in, leaving Dean scrambling to find an acceptable replacement (or any, really) before rent came due. Castiel, on the other hand, had been huddled over two sagging boxes and a tattered old suitcase, bulky trenchcoat providing a makeshift roof over it all, on the side of the road a block away from the nearest bus stop — a direct response to having been abruptly evicted from his own apartment in favor of the primary resident’s new girlfriend.

To this day, Dean’s not sure what made him stop. At first glance, he assumed Cas to be homeless, but even if Dean both owned a working umbrella and had thought to bring it with him, it wouldn’t make much of a difference, the fierce wind blowing the rain at an angle.

But then he glanced a second time, and something yanked, hard, at his unfortunately pliant heartstrings; the person looked so very _tiny, _crouched in on himself, face pale where it peeked out over the boxes and suitcase.

Without another thought, he slammed on the brakes. Given the amount of baggage, the guy was probably not homeless, but either way, Dean could at least give him a ride to the shelter of the pavilion outside the library and hope nobody gave him grief.

“You need a ride?”

The man — possibly boy, Dean thought, squinting through the window to little profit — shrank back, startled.

“Uh, no, thank you,” he said, and Dean very firmly ticked off the ‘man’ box in his brain. He’d known boys who’d smoked since elementary school, and they still didn’t sound like this.

“You sure? I don’t think the rain’s gonna let up for a while. Your boxes are getting kinda . . .” he trailed off, and they both glanced at the corners of the boxes where they darkened and bowed, drawing water from the sidewalk.

The man hesitated.

“My mother told me not to get in cars with strangers,” he explained, eyeing Dean’s car with an almost comical blend of suspicion and longing.

Dean bit his lip.

Maybe not _quite _a man.

“Your mom got a cell phone?”

“. . . Yes?”

“Snap a pic of the car, and text her the plates.” Dean reached for his wallet, tugging his student ID free and leaning over to hold it up. “You can send her a pic of this, too. If somethin’ happens, they’ll know who to look for.”

The boy/man remained still for a long moment, clearly debating.

Finally, with a decisive nod to himself, he stood, producing a mobile phone from his sleeve, it seemed like, and did as Dean instructed.

“You want some help loading your stuff?” Dean offered, surprised at his own willingness to get out in the rain. Giving a strange dude a ride was already pushing it.

Still, the guy just looked so _pathetic._

“Oh — if — if you don’t mind,” he started, uncertain, and Dean flicked on the hazards before jumping out.

“Not at all, man.”

They stowed the suitcase in the trunk, and the boy/man waited very patiently while Dean carefully laid out his gym towel on Baby’s backseat before hoisting the boxes in.

“Alright. Let’s get you somewhere dry.”

Considerably more comfortable than he’d started out, the guy slid into the passenger seat, carefully touching as little of the leather as possible. Dean patted himself on the back for being an excellent judge of character.

“So, uh — actually, I don’t know your name.”

“Oh.” The boy/man awkwardly stuck out a hand. “Castiel.”

Dean shook it, grinning.

“Castiel. Cool. I’m Dean. You got anywhere to go?”

Given the stuff and the thing about his mom, Dean was pretty sure Castiel must be a student.

Castiel shook his head slowly.

“No.”

“Oh. What, uh, what brought you out there?”

He sighed.

“I was renting a room with an acquaintance, but he decided he wanted to live with his girlfriend.”

“Ouch. What about your lease?”

Castiel looked a little ashamed.

“He, uh, he thought it would be a hassle, and since it was just for the summer . . .” he trails off. “He returned what I’d paid in rent, at least.”

Dean grimaced, more sympathetic than judgmental.

“So — you don’t — I dunno, you don’t have any friends you can stay with?”

When he glanced over, Castiel was hunched in on himself.

“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t have any friends.”

Despite the shortness of their acquaintance, Dean was starting to get a feel for Castiel’s character, and he was willing to bet he’d spent his obligatory year in dorms sitting quietly and studying.

Some people had probably tried to draw him out — upon closer inspection, he wasn’t a bad-looking dude at all — but Castiel was probably reserved and hesitant with all strangers, and most people weren’t willing to work that hard.

Which was a shame, really. The kid seemed nice.

“You’re a, uh, sophomore next fall, yeah?”

Castiel gave a slight nod.

“Okay. Well, don’t feel too bad. There’s a lot goin’ on your first year. It’s tough to make friends.”

“It’s not a new problem for me,” Castiel muttered wryly, and Dean covered his wince with a strained smile. Poor kid.

“Sorry to hear that. Still — give it some time.”

“What year are you?”

“Gonna be a sophomore, too, actually, although I took a couple years off before I started.”

“Oh.”

They were quiet for a while. Dean wouldn’t have called the silence _comfortable, _but he wouldn’t have said the reverse was true, either.

Mostly, Castiel seemed deep in thought, and it didn’t take a genius to know what about.

“You could stay with me,” Dean blurted suddenly, surprising both of them.

“What?”

“I, uh — well, I mean, it’s kinda weird that you got evicted today, of all days, ‘cause I actually — see, I was sublettin’ the other room in my place to somebody for the summer, but they kinda took off, and I can’t make rent if I don’t find anyone to take their place, but this far into the summer semester, anyone who needs to be here is already moved in, y’know?”

Castiel seemed to have a little trouble following, but Dean didn’t blame him. He _was _rambling.

He didn’t blame himself, either, though; who picks a guy up off the street and invites him to move in?

A crazy person, that’s who.

Castiel blinked.

“You — so — you need a roommate?”

“Yep.”

“And — you’d just — let me move in? Just . . . just like that?”

“Uh, I guess. If you wanted. I don’t think you’ll have a lot of luck finding a place right away, either.”

“But you don’t know me,” he protested, and Dean shrugged, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

“Sure I do. You’re Castiel, a sophomore at my university, and you listen to your Mom. Hell, if we’d both stayed in dorms, we mighta got matched, anyway. It’s not that big of a gamble.”

Castiel furrowed his brow, staring intently at the side of Dean’s face.

Dean tried not to squirm.

“That’s true,” he finally said. “How much is rent?”

“Seven-fifty a month, but my brother gets to crash with me whenever I want him to.”

Castiel pondered this.

“Alright. That’s acceptable.” He fidgeted with the balled up trench coat in his lap for a moment, and then: “Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem,” Dean assured him cheerfuly, and wondered again if he was crazy.

Probably. Nonetheless, on that rainy Thursday afternoon, Dean took Castiel home for the first time and hoped for the best.

Nearly three years later, he’s pretty sure he got it in spades.

Still, it took two years for Dean to figure it out; two years of low-key domestic bliss, of fixing coffee for Cas in the morning in an effort to get him out of bed, and Cas foisting sleepy-time tea on Dean in the evenings in an effort to get him to go to sleep; two years of both cramming for exams and cramming as much pop culture knowledge into Cas’s woefully sheltered brain as possible; two years of cohabiting like they’d done it all their lives, of navigating campus and town attached at the hip, of fighting for the work shifts that would leave them the same hours off.

Two years of opening the door to their shared space and Dean thinking, _God damn, am I glad to be home, _despite having no particular attachment to the apartment they lived in.

Indeed, it was only less than a year ago that Dean arrived home, soaking wet after his walk back from class and deeply discouraged over an essay grade he’d gotten back, only to meet Cas at the door.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greeted him warmly. There was a travel-tray of coffee precariously balanced on one arm while he fumbled with the key in the lock, messenger bag having slid down to his wrist.

“Let me get that for you,” Dean said, perking immediately, and Cas frowned.

“I got this.”

Amused, Dean waited, and a few moments later, Cas sighed.

“I don’t got this.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder and nudged him aside.

“The coffee,” Cas snapped, leaning protectively over it, and Dean shrugged.

“Chill, Cas. You got that.”

He grinned at the lock, ninety-nine-percent sure Cas was glaring at his back.

“Did you forget an umbrella?” he asked, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t supposed to rain this hard.” He pulled the key out and pushed the door open. “Also, you don’t get to rag on me for going out in the rain. Remember how we m—”

“I remember,” Cas said hastily, scooting past Dean and letting his bag fall to the ground. “And I maintain that I had no _choice._”

“Thank God,” Dean added, cheerful, and he could tell by the set of Cas’s shoulders as he put the tray on the table that he was smiling, the tiny, amused one that made his eyes all warm and crinkly. Dean kind of loved that smile.

“I brought you a coffee from work,” Cas said, remnants of that smile lingering as he turned, and Dean beamed.

“Not tea?”

“You have an exam tomorrow. I thought you’d be up late.”

Dean took the proffered coffee, only to set it back down on the table behind Cas and catch him in a bear hug.

“Dean,” Cas complained. “You’re soaking wet.”

Dean couldn’t see it, this time, but he could hear that same smile. It was there in the way Cas was careful to sound grumpy, but still came off pleased, and Dean gripped Cas tighter, all the better to impart the damp.

Cas sighed, but made no effort to escape, and Dean thought, in that moment, that he kind of loved Cas, period.

And now, almost a year later, Dean is finally ready to do something about it.

“And Hannah wants to go to D.C. with her Model UN club, and no one wants to tell her no, but my mother can only take so many extra shifts. Anna sends money, but San Francisco is ridiculously expensive, and neither the cafe or the library can _give _me extra shifts, even if I can find the time.”

Dean glances over at Cas in Baby’s front seat, genuinely sympathetic despite his nerves. He’d known, the moment Cas got in the car, wild hair dotted with rain droplets from his short wait outside the library, that today was the day.

He can’t keep it to himself any longer.

After all, they’ve been friends for just about three years. Dean can count on one hand the number of dates Cas has been on during that time (dates of various genders, mind you), and when Charlie visited over Spring Break, meeting Cas in person for the first time, she told him, ‘that boy would sell his precious nerd soul to be the Leia to your Han.’

(Dean would much rather him just be the Cas to his Dean, but he appreciated the sentiment, nonetheless.)

Anyway, Dean doubted it was quite _that _ drastic, but Cas tolerated all of Dean’s considerable flaws and quirks with conspicuous good cheer, which meant he didn’t _hate _Dean. And ever since Dean’s quiet, startling revelation, he’d subtly escalated all his casual touches (he’d never realized how many there already were), testing to see if Cas would draw a line.

He hasn’t, yet. Just this morning, Dean hooked his chin on Cas’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around him to steal a sip of coffee, and Cas sat perfectly still and let him.

And then he didn’t say a _word._

Like he thought it was totally normal.

_So, _either Cas is completely oblivious (possible) or he maybe, at least a little bit, likes Dean back.

At the very least, if he _is _oblivious, he doesn’t mind spending all his time with Dean or Dean basically being all over him, which means that, if Dean plays his cards right, he might be willing to give things a shot.

Dean bites his lip, easing up on the gas pedal. He’s hardly going to get a chance to confess his feelings if they both die in a wreck because Dean tried to get his speed to match his pulse.

“Well, maybe there’s somethin’ else you can do?”

He keeps his eyes on the road, but he can tell by the slight shift in his peripheral that Cas is giving him the sad eyes. Thank God he’s driving, because Cas’s are almost as bad as Sammy’s.

“Like what? I already have classes and work and y—you, um, you know. A lot of . . . things. Going on.”

Dean shrugs distractedly; even after months of thinking about it, he’s still not sure if he should let himself mangle some kind of speech about feelings or just go in for a kiss, which polls suggest he’s _way _better at.

“I don’t know. There’s, uh, dog-walking. Or, I dunno, tutoring? You’d be good at that.”

If he’s being totally honest, he kinda wants to take the kiss route. If Cas _does _shoot him down cold, Dean will have a little something to keep him warm as he wallows in shame and disappointment.

God, he hopes Cas doesn’t turn him down. It’s not that he doesn’t think Cas will want to stay friends — bless Cas’s immunity to catching awkwardness — but he knows himself well enough to know it’ll be a while before _he_ can act normally.

“Dog-walking or tutoring?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, tutoring.”

But if he does the heartfelt-speech thing, what the hell is he going to _say_ ? Everything he’s come up with, drunk or sober, stressed or relaxed, sounds dumb as all get out. Probably because his feelings _are _kind of dumb, but — well, maybe Cas won’t think so. Maybe Cas will want to be dumb together.

“Tutoring. I hadn’t thought of that . . .”

Even if he does — how is Dean going to ask him?

_Show don’t tell, _ he points out, and let’s be real; Dean is _really _ leaning toward this whole kissing thing. He’s pictured it a thousand times, with way more palatable results than any of his simple _speech _fantasies, and it’s getting harder and harder (no pun intended) to be in the same room as Cas without just . . .

On the _other _hand, Cas doesn’t really care for surprises, and Dean doesn’t want his shock at sudden kissing to prompt a knee-jerk rejection —

“Dean? Are you going to turn off the car?”

Dean blinks, taking in his surroundings; auto-pilot has safely transported them from the library to their assigned parking spot in the complex’s carport, and Cas already has the strap of his messenger bag looped over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Is everything alright?”

_Do it do it do it, _ his brain chants, and he’s ready, he is, but he _still _hasn’t made up his mind about how he wants to do this, and it’s probably better to wait until Cas has had some dinner and put his feet up instead of being fresh from work and stressed over money, right?

Yeah. Dean’ll do it later.

“Yeah, of course. Just tryin’ to remember the last time I gave Baby a tuneup.”

“Before Spring Break,” Cas informs him, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “You wanted her to be ‘company ready.’”

“Right, right. Thanks, Cas.”

Cas shrugs, smiling, and they walk up. Dean starts dinner while Cas does a little bit of homework at the table.

He’ll do it after dinner, Dean decides, sitting quietly while Cas divides his attention between the ravioli and a textbook. Once Cas is done eating, and Dean talks him into taking a TV break, and they’re sitting on the sofa, Dean will go, “Anyway, Cas, there’s somethin’ I wanted to say.” And Cas will turn toward him, stupidly blue eyes boring into his soul, and say, “Of course, Dean. What is it?” And _then_ Dean will say, “I think I might be in love with you,” and so long as Cas doesn’t look completely repulsed or anything, Dean’ll lean in and plant one on him.

Best of both words, he declares to himself, smug.

Naturally, things don’t go according to plan.

“Alright,” Cas announces, ferrying his dish to the sink. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Dean blinks.

“Uh. Where, um, where are you going?”

Cas grabs his coat off the hook, shrugging into it.

“Back to campus. I’ll just walk, though.”

It _has _stopped raining, and it’s still light out.

“Oh. Okay. Uh. Walk safe.”

Cas smiles.

“Thank you, Dean.”

And then he’s gone.

Well — there’s always tomorrow, right?

Wrong.

Dean’s on edge all day, knowing what the evening will bring, and only his own obligations at the garage keep him from cursing the lateness of Cas’s Friday night shift.

The _moment _ he gets home, though — after dinner, of course, because Dean’s still firm on no-big-decisions-on-an-empty-stomach — it is _so _ on. He’s a goddamn adult, and he’s going to tell the person of his dreams (and _boy _is he having a lot of dreams) that he loves them.

But Cas is late getting back, and when he does —

He’s not alone.

Meg Masters winks at Dean as she bends over, unzipping her boots.

“Hey there, Deano. Been a while.”

She and Cas went on a couple dates in junior year, and though it never went any further, Dean has harbored an intense dislike of her since.

The feeling’s probably mutual; they had an ethics class last semester, and Meg insisted on playing devil’s advocate every fucking time Dean opened his mouth.

“Thankfully,” he mutters, and Cas shoots him a reproachful look. He and Meg may not be close, but they’re still friends.

“Meg is a _guest,_ Dean,” Cas says, with emphasis, but Dean’s too upset by his thwarted plans (not to mention _confused_) to play ball.

“And an evil harpy.”

“Aw, you’re just mad I won that debate.”

“It was a _tie,_ ” he insists, though right now, he doesn’t give a fuck about the debate. There’s an ugly, formless _thing _clawing its way up his throat, and he’s pretty sure if she says anything more, it’s going to crawl right out and attack her.

Behind her, Cas rolls his eyes.

“This way, Meg.” To Dean, he says, “If I don’t see you before bed, good night, Dean.”

Dean stares, speechless and vaguely numb, as the two of them disappear into Cas’s bedroom and shut the door behind them.

Dean doesn’t see him before bed that night.

He doesn’t sleep much, either.

Of course, he’s considerably less excited to confess his feelings the next day.

Certainly, he’s no longer comfortable just putting it out there. Cas stayed locked up in his room with Meg until after eleven, loud, sultry giggles drifting through the walls, and Dean has more than a few questions.

If it were anyone else, he’d assume — but come _on. _ This is _Cas._

Then again — Meg was the only person to earn a second date in the first place.

_ Kissing her was very nice, but I don’t think I have time to date._

Dean grips the edge of the desk at the memory, knuckles white

He’d almost pointed out, at the time, that that’s what booty calls were for, but something had stopped him (he knows, now, that it was his own selfishness).

Maybe Cas has figured things out on his own.

Dean doesn’t absorb a word of his reading, too busy freaking the fuck out because he was too goddamn picky to confess his love in the car and it’s possible he’s completely missed his shot, because holy _shit _what a difference a day makes.

But _no, _he tells himself. This _is _Cas, so Dean is doing his stompy walk and stewing in anguish for nothing, because there _has _to be some other explanation.

And _because _ he’s a grown-ass dude, and Cas’s best friend, he’s gonna man up and just _ask._

He doesn’t get a chance.

Cas texts him that he’s having dinner out, and when he comes back around seven, there’s a guy with him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, smiling warmly, though his eyes look a little tired; he gestures behind him. “This is Kevin.”

“Uh. Hey, Kevin.”

Kevin waves.

“Hi, Dean.”

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Cas tells him, and the two of them head for Cas’s bedroom.

Dean watches them go, trying not to panic.

There’s no way — like, thinking he decided to hook up with Meg last night is one thing, but there’s _no way _Cas, sweet, innoce— well, no, maybe that’s not — _fine, _there’s no way Cas, grumpy, tired homebody, would bring two different people home in as many nights for sexy fun and games.

Just — no. Cas has _never _had an overnight guest, let alone two in a row. This is just — nope.

Dean hovers in the kitchen, anxious and befuddled, until a sudden thumping rhythm starts up.

The hall seems miles long when he stares down it, at Cas’s closed door, horrified.

No fucking way. Dean _refuses _to believe Cas is in there right now, having sex with some scrawny little dude that doesn’t even look old enough to attend university.

He starts down the hall, determined to prove himself right, and he’s inches away from kocking when he hears it:

“Get on the bed.”

Muffled by the door though they may be, the words are clear.

“What for?” Kevin asks, and Dean stands there, frozen, straining his ears to hear something other than what he thinks he’s hearing.

“It’s more cushioned than the floor, and the headboard will give you a handhold. You said you hadn’t done a lot of this before, so I want you to be comfortable.”

Dean’s hand slowly returns to its side. If Cas is seriously in there, about to do the dirty with Mr. Jailbait, it’s just fucking creepy for Dean to stand outside listening.

But that _can’t _be it, he tells himself, way past desperate and borderline hysterical.

“Ohh, I see.”

There’s a squeak as Kevin presumably gets on the bed.

“Like this?”

There’s a pause, and Dean hears Cas take a few steps.

“Yes. Start on your knees, and brace yourself against the top of the headboard.”

The bottom of Dean’s stomach drops out, and he stumbles back.

Cas is in there telling a guy to get on his knees and hold onto the headboard.

Dean’s not stupid. Or maybe he is, if he ever seriously thought he and Cas could be a thing, but he’s not _that _stupid.

There’s only one thing Cas and Kevin could be doing in there, and Dean sure as hell isn’t sticking around to hear any more of it.

Jo doesn’t even ask, just keeps the drinks coming and drives him home after last call.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Dean’s having a hard time meeting Cas’s eyes. Normally, Dean loves looking into Cas’s eyes, because they’re fucking gorgeous and Cas will pretty much stare back until you turn away or distract him with something — Dean tried to make a game of it, when they first met — but every time he does today, his stomach does this gross lurchy thing and his throat feels like he’s choking on a slimy bullfrog.

“Uh, just dropped in and said ‘hey’ to Jo and Ellen.”

“Oh.” Cas shifts. “How were they?”

“Pretty good.”

“You got back late.”

Dean tries not to wince.

“Yeah, I was hanging out with Jo and drinking, and I guess time got away from me.”

“Oh,” Cas says again.

Dean excuses himself to work on homework.

Kevin’s back again on Monday, along with his stupid little grunts and the stupid, unmistakable rhythm they seem to follow, and Dean has to take a long walk to stop himself from doing something childish like throwing an impromptu party or breaking the sink so he has an excuse to knock on the door and cut their fun short with this sudden, unexpected emergency.

Kevin isn’t there on Tuesday, but a curvy blonde tucks her hot pink chucks right next to Cas’s sensible black oxfords and introduces herself as Roxanne in a voice Dean can bitterly admit seems made for sex.

He bites out his own name, terse and three octaves deeper than it normally comes out, because it’s all he can do not to snap at her, _is that even your real name_?

Cas leads her to the bedroom — of fucking course — and she doesn’t leave again for two hours.

Dean’s on his sixth glass of water and has only had his textbook right-side-up for about twenty minutes by the time they finally come out.

Roxanne’s slinky black hoodie is wrapped around her waist now, revealing a truly marvelous bosom, just barely contained by a grey tie-dye camisole. If he’d never met Cas, Dean would probably have been making a spectacle of himself trying to charm her the moment she’d crossed the threshhold.

“You were fuckin’ amazing,” she tells Cas, all smoke and golden honey, and squeezes his shoulder, chipped black nail polish glinting in the kitchen light.

“As were you,” Cas says, smiling slightly. She winks.

“I was in good hands.”

Dean turns away, choking down the rest of his water, and a minute later, he hears the front door open.

“See you next week, Cas,” she calls, and the door shuts behind her.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean swallows.

“Hey, Cas.”

“How is the studying going?”

“Not too bad,” he mumbles. “Think I’m gonna head to bed soon.”

There’s a brief silence.

“Oh. I thought we could watch some Dr. Sexy.”

Normally, Dean’d be all over that, sleep be damned, because in the last few months he’s been testing the sofa-boundary like crazy and Cas has been rolling with it — but he’s not in the mood, tonight.

Cas probably still reeks of whatever sexy cool-girl perfume Roxanne wears, anyway. The so-close-to-being-cuddling-they-should-probably-just-call-it-cuddling Dean’s been doing lately will be considerably less awesome if Cas still smells like the last person he fucked.

Dean clutches his glass like it’s trying to fling itself out of his hand.

“Sorry, maybe another night,” he says, putting it in the sink. “See you in the morning. ‘Night, Cas.”

He doesn’t look at him as he flees to his room.

By the end of the second week, Dean’s a mess.

If not for the fact that it’s _all he can fucking think about, _there’s no way Dean would be able to remember all these people’s names. There’s been four others in addition to Roxanne, an even split of boys and girls, and stupid goddamn Balthazar and Gordon came in one right after the other.

(Dean didn’t stick around to see the second guy go home, but then, he spends a lot of nights out at Ellen’s place or even crashing with a friend, these days.)

Still, though — the one Dean’s _most _ worried about is _Kevin. _ Kevin is there Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from eight-to-ten PM like _clockwork, _ and he’s the only one Dean’s ever actually overheard _in flagrante._

He must be something _special, _Dean decides, bitter.

In light of that, Dean takes it upon himself to — you know — check him out.

Any best friend would, he reasons. Even if he wasn’t struggling with the honestly _crushing _weight of his own disappointment and thwarted desires — not to mention the breathtakingly nasty feelings building up with every new guest that passes through their home — he’d want to know what kind of person Cas was spending so much time with. That’s Dean, after all; nosy and overprotective when it comes to people he loves.

And God, does he love Cas.

But hey, even if Cas doesn’t love him back — even if Cas would rather fuck a baker’s dozen of practical strangers than go on a date with his best friend, whom he never used to have a problem spending time with, who’s been there with him through thick and thin and would totally be the most perfect boyfriend in the history of perfect boyfriends if given the privilege — Dean still wants him to be happy.

And Cas won’t be happy if he starts getting attached to this Kevin kid, only to find out he’s some kind of psychopath, right?

So Dean’ll just . . . make sure. Just to be safe.

Dean’s lost track of the days he’s been using his time between classes to surreptitiously follow Kevin around (it’s four), but despite the wealth of information he’s gathered, he still feels like it’s inconclusive.

(Or maybe his conclusions feel inconclusive.)

Anyway, he’s got a good hour before his one o’ clock lecture, and if the pattern holds true, Kevin should be sitting with his friends on the library quad as of ten minutes ago.

Dean strolls toward it, casual as you please, and _there. _There he is, unexpected sex kitten and nerdy wonderboy himself, flexing at his dorky friends.

(Dean is, possibly, being a little petty.)

He ducks behind a library column, trying to look casual, like he’s just reading all the ads posted on it — he does nearly get distracted by one of the ones for tutoring because the poor fucker used _Comic-_ fucking- _sans _and pictures of goddamn bumblebees — but then Kevin is backing up and proudly showing off how not only can he touch his toes, he can put his palms flat on the floor, and Dean forgets all about it.

Bully for Kevin, he thinks savagely. Does he even _know _ about all the other people Cas has given the grand tour of his bedroom? Does he seriously think putting on a little bicep and being _flexible _is enough to win Cas’s interest for good?

(Not that Dean has any better ideas.)

He seethes quietly behind the post as Kevin advances to a cartwheel, like he’s a goddamn eight-year-old, moving right into a handstand, and his stupid friends applaud enthusiastically.

Childish tricks, all of it, Dean insists to himself. Cas should be a little ashamed; even for a fuck buddy, messing around with someone who both looks and acts like they’re a few years shy of legal yet is sketchy as hell, even if they technically _aren't. _ Especially given the _kind _of sex they seem to be having.

He absentmindedly smoothes out the ad with the bumble bees where he’s unconsciously clutched at it.

Which, really, is what it comes down to; Kevin is Cas’s most regular booty-call by far, hence why Dean has chosen to stalk him around campus the last several days. He’s in Cas’s bedroom every other night during the week, _late, _and if all the creaks and thumps and banging and grunts are anything to go by, he’s the most energetic and enthusiastic of any of them.

Or maybe Cas’s other partners are just considerate enough to be fucking _quiet, _since somebody else lives there, too. Somebody who really, really doesn’t want to fall asleep to the sound of Cas getting laid by someone else.

Anyway, the point is, if any of these assholes are gonna try for something permanent with Cas — and possibly succeed — it’ll be Kevin.

Dean sighs, resting his forehead against the biggest bumble bee. How does a guy like Dean compete with a guy like Kevin? It’s not that he thinks the kid is that much better, or anything, but — come _on; _ most people don’t measure guys like Kevin and Dean on any of the same scales, because they’re just so _different._

Is that what Cas wants, then? Someone who’s just — not Dean? Someone as far from being Dean as they can get?

Kevin’s a dude, but he’s petite and cute, and while Dean thinks his own eyes are just as pretty as Kevin’s big brown doe ones, he’s batting zeroes in all other categories. Dean’s _big; _his shoulders are big and his hands are big and his chest is broad and even his goddamn legs have to bow out and take up more space. And no, Cas isn’t a small guy, either — just small enough to fit real nice against Dean when they hug, and maybe, as Dean once dared to hope, when they do other stuff — but if he’s looking for an adorable little thing who could pop into a minidress and heels and pass as whatever he wanted . . . well, Dean’s not it.

(Not without _way _more effort, anyway.)

And then there’s the whole _personality _thing. Dean’s still figuring Kevin out, given that he’s only been following him around campus and low-key researching him for a few days, but he’s pretty sure there’s not a lot to figure out. Kevin is your classic overanxious, overachieving honor student, and Dean’s heard him talking on the phone to his mother three times today alone.

Dean can do math. Both real math and people-math.

Of course, there is the matter of Kevin in the bedroom, which is where Dean’s own odds dip even lower. While Dean is confident he can provide Cas with vigorous, noisy marathon sex, he’s overheard Cas’s gravelly voice calling out instructions or praise way too many times to have any illusions about what he and Kevin get up to in there. Given that Kevin seems to be his favorite, and he doesn’t do that with anybody else . . .

Cas wants somebody he can dominate in bed.

Which, awesome, Dean doesn’t judge (and certainly, Cas doing his steely-eyed badass thing is hot as fuck), but he’s not totally sure he can be that person.

And that’s not to say Dean can’t get into the idea of Cas using that sexy blue necktie, the one that brings out his eyes, to fix Dean’s hands to the headboard before just going to town on him, but shit, he also really likes the idea of using that tie on _Cas, _ and either way, he doesn’t wanna do it _every time, _you know?

Dean’s all for trying new things sometimes, but on a regular basis . . .

On the other hand, this is _Cas. _If Cas said he was totally ace, Dean would still want to date him; he’d just probably watch a lot of porn. So if he can _abstain_ from sex, surely he can have sex that isn’t always his favorite kind?

On the _other _other hand — not having sex and having sex you’re not that into are actually pretty different things, now that he’s thinking about it.

But — but it _is _ Cas, and maybe if it’s Cas, Dean’ll enjoy any kind of sex, right? God _damn _is he into Cas, so maybe he’ll get used to it, or maybe he’ll just be so happy to be with Cas he can do the hardcore submissive thing. Sure, it’ll be disappointing at first, because Dean always imagined sex with Cas would be like everything else with Cas is, but after an adjustment period, he’ll probably be totally on board.

Will _Cas_, though?

Even if Dean can play the role right, _Cas_ might not be able to get into it. Dean’s undeniable strapping-ness aside, there is the rest of their dynamic to consider, and now that he is, Dean is horrified to realize that maybe the whole reason Cas even _wants _ to do that whole dom/sub thing might be _because _of Dean.

Dean has a tendency to — well, Sam would call it mother-henning, but other people might just call it ‘being a pushy dickhead’ — and maybe after three years of living with Dean trying to boss him around, he’s ready to do it to someone else.

But that’s not _fair. _ Cas is hardly some dainty flower; he can tell Dean to fuck off any time he wants, and he pretty much does, first thing in the morning, if not in so many words. And Dean just does it because he cares! And alright, fine, maybe he can be a little too invested when it comes to the personal decisions of people he loves, but he’s just looking out for them, and _again, _Cas shouldn’t have any problem telling him where to stick it. God knows he has before. Dean nearly went crazy that time he had that ambitious idea for his final project in EE and he partnered with Fergus Crowley since the guy had the funds to back it up, but no matter how many times he tried to point out that Crowley was almost certainly organized crime and it was a dumbass move to put yourself on his radar, Cas did it anyway.

Still, even if this kink is one Cas comes by honestly, Dean _is _bossy and occasionally controlling, and talking back is as much an instinct as breathing for him, so when Cas pictures his ideal sub . . .

It’s probably not Dean.

“Excuse me.”

Amid his self-loathing — which is just messed up, because while Dean can get pretty insecure, these are some new ones, for him — a glimmer of hope appears. Kevin is answering his phone, and Dean’s willing to bet it’s his Mom again, and now that he thinks about it, the kid moves around like a startled rabbit and constantly pats down his pockets like he’s checking to make sure he didn’t forget anything, so he’s clearly really high-strung, so _maybe _ Cas doesn’t have a dominance kink; _maybe _ Kevin is the one who needs to let go and hand over the reins, since he’s so tightly wound the rest of the time. Maybe Dean _could _—

“Dude, _excuse me._”

Dean blinks, glancing down to where a tiny blue-haired girl is scowling at him.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been trying to get you to move for like, two minutes. God. I just wanted to tear off one of the numbers on that flier you’re clutching.”

Dean releases his hold on the bumblebee, jumping back.

“Shit. Sorry.”

She rolls her eyes, reaching for one of the creased stubs.

“Whatever.”

He thinks he apologizes again before she leaves, but honestly, he’s already too lost in thought to pay attention.

Whatever is going on with Cas and Kevin, Dean doesn’t know enough to be sure.

He’ll have to just wait and see.

Cas brings home some kind of black rope and cord thing that night, squirreling it away in his room first thing. Dean only gets a glimpse — and if he didn’t know better, he’d say the rope part was just like the one he uses at the gym for his triceps — but he’s positive it’s some kind of kinky sex toy for his and Kevin’s evening play.

Sure enough, there’s a rhythm of steady squeaking later that night, Cas’s door creaking ominously with each one, and when a pillow over his ears fails to muffle it, Dean storms out of his room to head for the Roadhouse.

Cas comes out while he’s putting on his shoes, and Dean feels too much like a mop being wrung out to even be glad he’s fully dressed.

“Oh — are you leaving?” There’s concern amid the surprise, but maybe that’s just a result of the dark little half-moons Cas has had under his eyes lately.

“Uh, yeah. Jo and Ellen, um, got a new, uh, a new thing. They want help movin’ it.”

“Oh.” Cas looks like he wants to say something, but then he sighs. “Do you know where the ibuprofen is? I think I’ve been pushing Kevin too hard. He’s still sore from the other night.”

Dean nearly chokes on air.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “Haven’t seen it.”

Without waiting for a response, he leaves.

Later, Ellen jokes about charging him rent.

Tuesday and Thursday night go to a vaguely-familiar looking girl with shock blue hair. She’s a tiny little thing, like a pixie; Dean could probably pick her up in one hand.

That bitch face doesn’t belong to anybody younger than twenty-two, though, so Dean probably shouldn’t underestimate her.

Anyway, she gives Dean a funny look when she comes into the apartment, probably a little uncomfortable with doing the nasty while her hookup’s roommate is just down the hall, and Dean very charitably pretends to be busy to set her at ease.

The bile he’s trying to hold back has nothing to do with it, certainly.

She leaves the first night looking about fifty times more chill — good job, Cas, Dean thinks sarcastically — and after three hours on Thursday, she stares up at Cas like she’s considering offering to bear his children.

“Fuck, where were you ten years ago?” she says, gazing into Cas’s baby blues like she’s counting stars.

Which, _ew. _Ten years ago this girl would have been a preteen; there sure as hell shouldn’t have been anything Cas could do for her then.

“I’m sorry you’ve been let down in the past.”

Oh, _hell _no. This is only date two; has this girl seriously been dumping all her shitty sex and dating history on poor Cas? Doesn’t she know that’s basically the best, most tried-and-true way to kill the mood? And besides, they’re not even real dates!

(Dean hopes.)

She shrugs.

“It’s partly me.”

Cas reaches out, squeezing her shoulder and looking at her like he does to Dean when Dean’s having a shit day and caught up remembering what a completely worthless fuckup he actually is.

“Don’t say that. You’re very intuitive,” Dean carefully breathes through his nose, “and whatever bad experiences you’ve had, you’re not to blame.”

She lets out an honest-to-god sniff, and hey, awesome, Cas provides goddamn _therapy sex _now.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He gives her shoulder another squeeze, and then sees her out.

When she’s gone, he comes to sit next to Dean at the table.

“Hello, Dean,” he greets him, voice soft, and Dean pretends to be super focused on his laptop.

“What’s the word, Cas?” he mumbles distractedly, and Cas sighs.

“Tired. And hungry, if I’m being honest.”

“We had dinner a few hours ago.”

Cas shrugs.

“We could go for burgers.”

“At—” Dean makes a show of checking the clock, although he knows exactly what time the two of them came out. “Eleven-thirty at night?”

“It’s been a long time since we went out,” Cas comments, vaguely coaxing, and Dean just barely stops himself from pointing out whose fault that is.

This is one elephant Dean’s determined to ignore.

“That’s true. Still — it’s really late. Maybe another time.”

Cas pauses.

“Alright.”

A few minutes later, Dean is still staring at the same throwback gif of an ostrich chasing a giraffe around a pen, and Cas gets up and goes back to his room with a barely-audible good-night.

By the end of the third week, Dean pretty much begs Benny to cry off calling for Senior’s Bingo Night so they can go out drinking (Benny refuses, but agrees to let Dean buy a ticket to play and bring a flask with him). He’s all set to make himself scarce so he doesn’t have to listen to Kevin getting fucked into the mattress or whatever’s going on over there, when Cas corners him.

“Dean,” he says, eyes earnest. “I was thinking — we should see a movie tonight.”

Dean pauses, setting the bottle of Jack Daniels down even though the flask is probably only half-full.

“Uh. Doesn’t Kevin usually come over on Fridays?”

Cas frowns.

“Yes, but — I — I feel like I’ve hardly seen you.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been busy,” Dean snaps, and Cas recoils.

“As have you.”

Busy giving Cas some _privacy, _maybe. Dean turns back to his flask.

“Right. Well, it sounds fun, but Benny just got dumped, so he and I were gonna go cruising,” Dean lies. He knows he’s being childish, but he’s not ready to act normally with Cas yet, and nor is he okay with Cas knowing that Dean’s about to head off to play drunken bingo and feel pathetic because everybody else in the room has probably survived way worse things ten times over and all they ask for in terms of refreshments is potato chips and ginger ale.

It takes so long for Cas to respond, Dean thinks he might have just walked out.

“I see. Good luck.”

A few moments later, his bedroom door shuts.

It rains Thursday of the fourth week, and Dean forces himself to catch Cas’s eye over breakfast, despite shutting down all his efforts at conversation the fifteen minutes before.

“You want a ride home from the cafe?” he offers.

Cas stares at him for a moment, and then his lip curls.

“Don’t bother,” he snaps, and a minute later, the front door slams.

You’d think a guy getting laid that often would be less bitchy, Dean thinks to himself.

He doesn’t finish his breakfast.

At the end of the week, Cas loses patience for real.

“I haven’t heard anything about Sam’s birthday. Are you not having a party this year?”

Dean _is_ — fortunately, Jo and Charlie have taken over planning, because Dean’s been about as useful as a fork with soup the last month — but he hasn’t said anything to Cas, on account of —

“Didn’t think you had time for that.”

Cas stiffens.

“It’s Sam’s _birthday._”

He sounds offended, and Dean envies him. What Dean wouldn’t give to just be _offended, _instead of sad and angry and heartbroken and brimming with a self-loathing that feels astringent on his insides.

“So?”

“_So_? Dean, what is your _problem_?”

“Don’t got a problem,” Dean mutters, scrubbing at a plate from dinner and wishing it were true.

“You don’t seriously believe that, right? A stranger could tell. In fact, they have. The other night, Roxanne lamented that you were ‘too cute to be so bitchy’, and I couldn’t even defend you, because you’ve been like this for _weeks_!”

“Well, nice to know how Roxanne feels,” Dean retorts, a little wounded at the thought that Cas lies there in the afterglow, gossiping about Dean with all the people he’s sleeping with.

“This isn’t a joke. I don’t —” Cas hesitates. “I don’t know how to fix this. Or if I can.”

Dean closes his eyes.

“Cas. There’s nothin’ to fix. You’re makin’ a mountain out of a molehill; I know you’ve been really busy and — and preoccupied, so I didn’t wanna bother you with it. If you wanna come, and you’ve got the time, that’s great. Go for it.”

“Didn’t want to _bother _ me — Dean, you _know _I’d make time for that!”

“Would you?” Dean counters, setting the dish down and turning. Cas blinks tired eyes at him.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing. Just — if you’re too busy for me, I figured you wouldn’t have time for Sam, either.”

His brows fly up, and yeah, okay, it was kind of a cheap shot.

But it’s true. The few times Cas has tried to hang out with Dean, it’s been _after _ he’s done everything else. Dean doesn’t need _pity _bro-time. If Cas doesn’t need a best friend right now, then whatever.

“_Excuse _ me? _I’m _ too busy for you? Dean, you’re the one who’s been _ignoring _me!”

“Have not,” Dean objects instinctively, but even if he can sort of see where Cas is coming from, Cas is the one who started it. “I’ve barely seen you, Cas. How could I be ignoring you? Besides, you’ve clearly had other things you’d rather do.”

Cas’s expression twists.

“Is that what this is about? That I’ve been doing other things lately? Well, I’m sorry I haven’t had as much time for you, but — but Dean, I needed the money. Surely you can understand that.”

Dean’s brain flatlines.

When it starts up again, he thinks he might puke.

Here he’d been, drowning in self-pity, thinking this couldn’t get any worse, but — shit, these people have been _paying _Cas? Cas, who doesn’t even have sex for fun, was so desperate for money he felt like he had to prostitute himself?

All his anger vanishes, like it was never even there.

“Dude,” he whispers, reeling. “You should have told me.”

Cas frowns, obviously frustrated.

“It’s not like money isn’t _always _tight, Dean. I was hardly about to ask you for it, especially on behalf of the rest of my family.”

Sure, under normal circumstances, Dean could see how that would be awkward — but Dean’s his _best friend. _ If the alternative was whoring himself out, how could Cas _not _come to Dean?

“You could have,” Dean insists. “You didn’t have to do all this. Shit, man, look at you, you’re exhausted and — and unhappy —”

“No thanks to _you,_ ” Cas snaps. “If you really wanted to be there for me, Dean, you would have been. Instead you’ve been avoiding me and staying out all night doing God knows what and I — I _am _ unhappy, and all I wanted was to know you were there, but you _haven’t _ been. Why _not_?”

Dean looks away, flustered.

“I — because — I’m not, um, I’m not judging, but — but it was _awkward _for me, Cas.”

Hopefully Cas won’t poke at that too closely, won’t suddenly recognize, at this incredibly inconvenient time, the nature of Dean’s feelings. Hopefully he’ll just assume that Dean is a regular guy who feels a little weird about his roommate trading sex for money in the next room.

Cas draws back, brow knitted in confusion, and then he pales.

“You knew.”

Dean nods, wondering how this is news to Cas. Maybe he didn’t know about the money, but the sex part was pretty damn obvious. What did Cas _think _he thought?

“Yeah.”

“Since when?”

“Uh, well. Last month when you — I mean, it was kind of obvious.”

Cas’s expression goes tight.

“You’ve known for a — why didn’t you _say_ anything?” he demands.

Dean shrugs.

“Didn’t think it was my place.”

Couldn’t stand to think about it — not that it stopped him — because he was so fucking jealous of every single person Cas picked over Dean.

Of course, now Dean knows Cas _didn’t_ choose anybody over Dean.

No, Cas just felt like he’d run out of options, period.

“You didn’t think it was your place,” Cas says flatly. “So — so what? You thought you could just go on being friends with me like nothing had changed and I would be none the wiser?”

Dean flushes, guilty.

“Yeah?”

Cas closes his eyes, jaw tight, and when they open, they’re —

They’re _hurt._

“And you didn’t think to let me know?”

“It’s kind of an awkward thing to t—”

“And it’s not “_awkward,_”” he finger-quotes the word, “To be going out of your mind wondering why your best friend is pulling away from you?”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“But you _were!_ ” Cas nearly shouts. “Clearly, it makes a difference, so you should have — you should have _told _ me. You should have let me explain. I at least deserved to know how _you _felt!”

“I’m so—”

“I don’t want you to be _sorry_! I want you to—” Cas cuts off, clenched fists suddenly loosening as he slumps. “I want you to at least be my friend. And — and I can’t do anything to make that happen if I don’t know what’s going on with you.”

Dean slumps, defeated.

“Yeah. Yeah, I — I want that, too, Cas. You’re absolutely right, I’ve been an ass, but — but you’re my best friend, and this doesn’t change that.” Dean swallows. “It shouldn’t, anyway. I didn’t mean to let it.”

After all, if Dean hadn’t had his head so far up his ass, he might have seen what was really going on there. Cas might have felt like he could confide in him.

Dean might have been able to try and fix it.

Cas just gives him a lost look.

“You say that like you think you can _stop _letting it.”

“I can,” Dean insists. “I just — I freaked out, because I’m an immature dick, but I’m here for you, man. And it’s where I wanna be. We’re gonna get through this.”

“I want to,” Cas says, and the mournful way it comes out makes Dean’s chest ache.

“Then we will. But Cas, you can’t — you can’t do what you’ve been doing. I don’t care how bad you need the money, if you don’t like it—”

“It’s not _that _bad,” Cas interjects with a huff. “Obviously I miss having free time, but I get to connect with people in ways I usually don’t. It’s more rewarding than I expected.”

Oh.

Dean swallows.

Okay. So — scratch that. Maybe Cas _is _okay with the whole prostitution thing. Maybe his only problem is Dean being a dick about it.

He takes a moment to let that sink in. Dean’s well-aware that there is such a thing as a happy sex-worker, and he supports that — but based on everything else, it’s a surprise that Cas is one.

That’s good, though. Hell, that’s a million times better than Cas just suffering through, miserable with his lot but feeling like he couldn’t do anything else.

Afraid Cas will misinterpret his silence as judgment, Dean scrambles to speak.

“Sorry. I didn’t, um. I didn’t realize you liked it.”

Cas softens.

“I appreciate your concern, Dean. But I can take care of myself.”

And damn if that doesn’t just feel like a slap in the face, because Dean wants to take care of Cas, too, maybe even _needs _to, in his own messed up way.

But if Cas doesn’t want that . . .

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath, blinking back the sudden sting in his eyes. “Yeah, okay. So, I guess — if you’re, uh, if you’re happy doin’ that, then — then you don’t really need anything from me.”

Cas shrugs, eyes fixed to Dean’s face.

“Just for you to be my friend. Like you were before you found out, if — if it’s not asking too much.”

“’Course not,” Dean scoffs. Anything for Cas, even if it’s looking like the whole Leia-to-his-Han thing isn’t ever gonna pan out.

“Besides,” Cas continues. “I won’t need to do this for much longer.”

“Yeah?” Dean manages, desperately trying to shove aside his meltdown for later, in private, when he can have a good cry and indulge himself on feelings of unfairness even though really, what’s unfair about Cas being an independent adult exercising his personal autonomy? What’s unfair about him not wanting Dean, when Dean’s less than nothing special and lacks the ambition or ability to get anywhere that would make somebody like Cas want to follow?

“Yes. Probably only another week.”

Dean tries to remind himself to be supportive. Cas certainly shouldn’t feel like _Dean _is pressuring him to do anything.

“Thought you, uh. Were enjoying yourself. You sure you don’t wanna keep at it? I’ve heard the money’s really good,” he jokes, though he nearly chokes on the words.

Cas rolls his eyes.

“I said it was more rewarding than I _expected_. I’d still rather have time with—” he cuts off, reddening. “I mean, free time. Though you’re not wrong; I’m amazed at how much people are willing to pay for even an hour of my time.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Dean is expected to laugh about this.

He dredges up a weak smile.

“Well, they can probably tell you’re worth it.”

He winces as soon as the words leave his mouth; that doesn’t sound like a joke, that sounds like a fucking skeevy-ass commentary on —

Cas looks surprised, and then his lips curve into a smile.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and just like that, Dean melts.

“Of course.” God, why did Dean ever think he could deserve Cas?

He _wasn’t _thinking. He was just — _feeling_, like he always does.

Cas’s smile widens, and the look turns playful, that achingly familiar, barely-there gleam in his eye.

“Finals are next week. You must be stressed.”

“Yeah, a little.” Dean’s pretty much boned, because finals have been the furthest thing from his mind lately. He’s going to have to cram like nobody’s business. Hell, he might even have to get someone to tutor him, because he definitely hasn’t been paying as much attention in lecture as he should.

“Well, I would never charge my best friend, so you know.”

That nauseated feeling returns with a vengeance.

“Um.” Dean blinks at the wall behind Cas’s head, trying to figure out how to respond to his best friend (and possible love of his life) offering to platonically fuck the exam stress out of him without starting to cry or accidentally begging Cas to please just love him back.

Or both.

“Yeah, that’s — I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t — I — I don’t —” he clears his throat. “Just — I think that might be, um, uncomfortable.”

Cas’s smile slips.

“Why? Is this — are you still worried about the money? I told you, Dean, I would never ask for your help with that—”

“No! No, no, I just — and it’s not help if I’m getting something out of it. But you gotta understand, Cas—” _even though you’ve had a sexual awakening and this is suddenly not a big deal for you, you are and always will be a huge goddamn deal to me _“— that even if I were paying you, it’d still just — it’d be weird.”

Weird falls laughably short of what it would be, but Dean doesn’t know what else to say.

“Why? If it’s not that, then —” His face falls. “Oh. So now that you know I — you don’t want me helping you?”

This conversation may actually be killing Dean.

“No, it’s not that—”

“Isn’t it? Dean, you’re my _best friend. _ When I do you a favor, it’s _because _you’re my best friend, not because of any other feelings—”

“This is _way _more than just a favor—”

“What, because now other people pay me for it?”

“Even before—”

“You never said a word when we did it before!” Cas snaps. “The only thing that’s changed—”

“Wait, what?” Dean interrupts him. “When we — christ, Cas, we’ve never done _that _before. Not even close.”

Dean may have some _fuzzy _ memories of nights stumbling home with Cas after the bars closed, but they’re still there and he knows they didn’t involve anything _like_ that.

Cas throws up his hands.

“What, so now that other people pay me for it, it’s no longer just studying together, but tutoring? What on earth is the _difference_?”

Dean can’t take it anymore.

“The difference is that I—”

And then Cas’s words start to catch up to him.

“— is that I — I . . . uh. Uhhhh.”

“_What, _Dean?” Cas insists, clearly impatient, but he’s gonna have to sit tight, because if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d swear Cas just said -

“. . . tutoring?” he croaks.

“Yes! Tutoring! It was _your idea, _ remember?” Cas shakes his head, bitter. “ Actually, you probably don’t. I should have known. You were _barely _paying attention, too busy thinking about your stupid car—”

“Baby’s not stupid,” Dean says reflexively, brain working furiously as he thinks back to basically every night for the last month, to all the people traipsing in and out of Cas’s bedroom, and —

“Kevin,” he pronounces, heart sinking, because even if Cas actually _isn’t_ sleeping with a bunch of people — even if he’s not accepting money for it — there’s still one he definitely is. “What about Kevin?”

He’s pretty sure he knows the answer. If all those other randoms were tutoring, then Kevin must be the one Cas is actually dating. After all, he’s the only one Dean ever actually heard making obvious sex noises.

Cas screws up his face.

“Kevin? What about him? I’m tutoring him.”

Dean would roll his eyes if he weren’t so upset. Not only does Cas have a serious boyfriend who comes over every other night for sexy times, he’s seriously going to sit here and try to _lie _about it.

“Yeah, _right. _ What the hell kind of tutoring involves that much thumping and groaning? He’s a noisy little kid, isn’t he?” After all, Dean’s pretty sure he’s never heard Cas moan or grunt _once. _It’s just Kevin who can’t reign it in.

Cas is looking at him like he’s crazy, and who knows? Maybe the stress of the last month has finally chased all his marbles out.

“I admit, Kevin is the only one to ask me for help with physical education, but you don’t have to be offensive, Dean. He’s a very accomplished young man, and just because he neglected his physical fitness and is now having to make up the difference is no reason to be derisive.”

“’Physical fitness,’” Dean sneers. “Is that what the kids are calling it?”

Cas’s brows climb.

“That’s what _everyone _is calling it. What else would you call it?”

“A lot of things, Cas, but physical fitness ain’t one of them!”

He throws up his hands.

“Fine! Flexibility, endurance, core strength, cardio — is _that _ better? I’m sorry if the noise disturbs you, but you should have said something, and _also,_ Kevin’s been doing his best to get stronger. I would think that you, of all people, could respect that effort.”

Dean stares.

Holy _shit. _Is Cas seriously saying — _all this time _— that the sounds Dean has been hearing from his bedroom when Kevin is over are —

“Wait — so you guys just — you’re _working out_ in there?”

“Well, not me. I just walk Kevin through a routine, and adjust the difficulty as he becomes more fit.”

“And by routine, you mean you _literally _— like, this is not a euphemism? He’s in there — exercising?”

By the look on Cas’s face, Dean should probably check his shoulders for a few additional heads later.

“What _else _would he be doing?”

_Having wild, kinky sex with you._

Dean really doesn’t want to say that.

“I . . . don’t . . . know,” he tries, halting, and Cas screws up his face.

“Dean?”

“Just — you know. Not . . . that.”

“Dean.” Cas is clearly not impressed, but _tough_ . Dean is so fucking humiliated he can’t even be relieved that Cas doesn’t have a boyfriend. But — but _come on. _What else was he supposed to think?!

_You could have asked, _some shitty, unhelpful part of his brain points out, and Dean shoves it aside with a vengeance.

_Anyone _ would have thought what Dean thought. He’s _sure _of it. Really, it’s all Cas’s fault for just assuming Dean knew what was going on and — and . . .

“Hey, wait a minute.”

“What?”

“What did _you _ think we were talking about? You said — you were surprised I knew something. But if it wasn’t about the tutoring, then what was it?” _And if you haven’t been in the business of ‘companionship,’ what did you think I was being all weird about?_

Because Cas had _definitely _ thought he knew why Dean was behaving strangely; and if he _also _thought Dean knew he was tutoring people . . .

Cas looks confused for a moment, then abruptly lowers his gaze, face turned a startling shade of red.

“Nothing.”

“_Dude,_ ” Dean chokes out, because _seriously_ ? He’s even _fidgeting, _now, for god’s sake!

“Well — well, if _you _ didn’t think I was tutoring, what _did _you think was happening?”

It’s Dean’s turn to blush.

“Uh. Well. Y’know.” Given the fact that it was the _most _logical conclusion, a viewpoint Dean is fully prepared to defend, he’s not sure how Cas hasn’t put it together.

“No, I don’t.”

“I . . . thought — maybe, you, uh. You know, that you were . . . _getting to know _ all those people. Uh, intimately,” he adds, in case it wasn’t clear. He definitely doesn’t wanna spell it out for Cas, or indicate that he may have lain awake/fled to the bar, tormented by his own vivid imagination as it speculated on what, _exactly, _was happening in Cas’s room at any given moment.

Cas blinks, forehead creased — and then his jaw drops.

_“What?!_” he demands, incredulous. “Dean, you can’t seriously have thought that I — that I was — and oh, _God, _just now, when we talked about money — how could you — _are you serious?_”

Dean feels about six inches tall.

“Look, man, what was I _ supposed _to think?”

“_That I was tutoring! _ Like you _ suggested _I do!”

“I _ forgot, _ okay?” Cas was totally right; Dean had barely been paying attention. Dean’s not about to _ admit it, _though. He already looks like a complete dumbass, here.

How did they get back to this, anyway? Cas is the one who’s supposed to be explaining his messed up logic.

“Quit changing the subject! Why the hell did you think I was being so weird about it all, if you weren’t hookin’ up in there?”

Cas hesitates.

“As I said,” he begins carefully. “I thought you were upset because I didn’t have as much time for you. _ Anyway, _ I still don’t see how you thought I was — doing _ that, _ with _ all _ of those people. While it sounds like something _ you _might do, I hardly even date!”

“Hey,” Dean protests, indignation half-hearted, because there’s something niggling at his brain — oh, yes, Cas is doing it _ again. _“You’re avoiding the question, man. Earlier, when you went all ‘you know,’ what did you think I knew?”

Cas winces, and he looks down.

“Uh. Nothing. It’s really not important.”

“Like hell it’s not! You’re acting shady as fuck right now, you get that, right? Which, given that I thought you were selling sex ten minutes ago, that’s pretty damn shady!”

“There’s nothing wrong with selling sex,” Cas counters stiffly.

“No, but — see, you’re doing it again! Tell me!”

“I don’t _ want _to,” Cas insists, petulant.

“Well, why _ not _?”

“Well, why were _ you _so bothered by what you thought I was doing?”

Dean’s face gets hot.

“Because!”

“Because _ what _?”

He rubs his face, definitely not missing that the fucker’s changed topics yet again.

“Like you said, you don’t usually date.”

“So? _You _do. Why the abrupt — _prudishness_?”

And yeah, that’s _ so _ not it, but there’s not a chance in hell Dean’s about to admit he was _ jealous, _not when this has already turned into a fiery, multi-car trainwreck.

“’Cause — you know. You didn’t have time for me.” If Cas gets to cling to transparent bullshit, so does Dean.

“You already said that wasn’t it.”

“I lied, so sue me.”

“No, you didn’t,” Cas says slowly, frowning. “You’re lying _ now. _”

“So are you!” Dean sputters, and gets a deep scowl for his troubles.

Cas doesn’t deny it, though.

“Alright. Then — we’re at an impasse.”

“Guess so, buddy.”

They’re silent for a moment — Dean’s not sure either of them have ever really _ won _ when it comes to a game of stubborn — and eventually, Cas sighs, shoulders slumping. He looks exhausted and disappointed, but there’s also something . . . _ hopeful, _a tiny spark in his gaze when he looks up.

“Dean,” he starts quietly. “Is there — is there any chance you were . . . jealous?”

Dean sucks in a breath.

Shit, maybe Cas isn’t as oblivious as he thought.

How the _ fuck _is he supposed to answer that? That question has DANGER stamped all over it.

Cas isn’t done, though.

“Because I was,” he whispers.

Pretty much all of Dean’s systems blink offline.

“Nnnuhh?” he finally stammers, face probably twitching, and Cas shrugs.

“All those nights you wouldn’t come home. You — you haven’t done that in a long time, and I — I had thought that maybe . . .” he trails off and looks away, ashamed.

Dean’s still rebooting, but he gives speech a try anyway.

“Why — why, um. Why would you be jealous?”

_ Please _let the answer be what he hopes it is.

Cas’s lips curve, just a touch. Dean wants to press his own to the corners, kiss the bitterness in that smile away.

“I’d say it was obvious, but you _ did _assume I’ve been having casual sex with strangers every night for a month, so—”

“_Dude. _”

Cas sighs.

“I _ like _ you, Dean. Except — that’s a lie. I think I _ love _ you. And I thought, before, that you might — that you _ could _— love me, too.”

And just — there’s _ no way. _ There is no fucking way that Dean really — that _ Cas _— that this is happening on any level, in the very same reality Dean is forced to live in.

Is there?

“You love me.”

“Yes,” Cas confirms, voice soft.

“And you’re okay if I love you back?”

Cas’s eyes widen a little, though a second later, his lips quirk.

“Well, yes, though that is actually the _most _desirable outc—”

Dean surges forward and kisses him.

And Cas — because miracles are real, apparently — kisses back.

“_Dean, _” he sighs when they stop for breath, and Dean presses their cheeks together, relishing the feel of Cas’s skin on his, of the scent of him underneath that of their shared coconut body wash.

“Cas,” he murmurs back, and captures his lips in another deep, truly-fucking-incredible kiss, and part of Dean wishes it could go on forever.

He forces himself to break away, though, because there’s been a question in the back of his mind for the last ten minutes, and now that everything else is resolved, he has to _ know. _

“Cas, I gotta ask—” he pants, and Cas chases his lips, clutching at Dean’s shirt front and nipping at his skin.

“Yes, Dean, anything—” he mumbles, urgency in his tone, and Dean very nearly gets distracted again.

_ Nearly. _

“That — that rope thing — that’s not a sex toy, is it?”

Against him, Cas freezes, then slowly draws away, staring hard.

“No. No, it is not.”

Dean nods, considering.

“Okay. But, I mean — it _ could _be, right?”

Cas sighs, and even though it’s not the soft, rapturous one from before, Dean still thinks it’s one of his favorite sounds in the world.

(But yeah, no; turns out the rope thing is _ definitely _not a sex toy.

Cas, of course, has the nerve to say, “I told you so.”)

\- END -

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


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